Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Village Matters (2 page)
‘Thank God for that. I hate letting our customers down. I’ll have coffee when you’re ready.’ Jimbo groaned. He’d never get the window started. He began refreshing the coffee machine he kept in constant readiness for his customers. Just as he switched it on the door burst open and in came Pat Duckett from the school. Under her coat she had her school cleaning apron on, and her thick hair was
standing on end, almost as though she’d used her head on the school hall floor, instead of her polishing mop. In her hand she clutched the school keys.
Pushing back her hair she whispered, ‘Mr Charter-Plackett! Have yer got a minute? I haven’t slept a wink all night for worrying. Can we go in the back where we won’t be ’eard?’
‘Heavens above, Pat, what’s the matter?’
‘It’s that Mr Fitch, yer know, Mr Fitch plc? He’s stealing the church silver and I don’t know what to do about it.’
‘Well, yer know I went up to the Big House last night to ’elp out, with that waitress being off with the ’flu? Well, there was a right flap on. ’Ave to admit I made it my business to find out, ’cos I’m a bit of a nosy Parker like you are.’ Jimbo began protesting but then admitted to himself he did like to hear all the latest gossip.
‘Apparently,’ Pat took a deep breath, ‘apparently they’d been doing some more alterations. Don’t know if you’ve ’eard but Mr Fitch is ’aving some rooms done up for a private flat for himself, anyway this room he fancied for a sitting room, he calls it ’is drawing room but we all know it’s where ’e’s going to sit, he starts examining the panelling. Beautiful it is, really old, bit of woodworm here and there and he wanted to get it done. Starts tapping the panelling and finds that one bit sounds ‘oller.’
‘Oller?’
‘Yer know, no wall at the back, empty like. Anyway
when ’e stands back to look ’e sees that that piece of panelling is a bit different from the rest, as if it ’ad been put in later. Course, he couldn’t bear, ’as to have a look. Well, he gets the carpenter to remove this piece of panelling and lo and behold there’s like a small room. An alcove thing. No windows, just a space and there, low and behold in cardboard boxes, stuff wrapped in old newspapers. They drag ’em out and believe it or believe it not it’s all old silver things in there.’
‘Whose silver things? Sir Ralph’s?’
‘I’m just coming to that. Apparently he gets unwrapping the newspapers and finds communion cups, two big silver plates, for like propping up on the altar, a pair of beautiful candlesticks, wonderful ones, and one that big, when the pieces are fixed together it stands on the floor. All really old. Well, he looks at the dates on the newspapers and they’re dated June 1940!’
‘June 1940?’
‘June 1940. Yes, but, and ’ere’s what’s up, he says he’s bought the house so they belong to him and he’s going to sell them to help with the cost of his alterations!’
Linda came in. ‘Hi! Mr Charter-Plackett, just wondered where you were. I’ll carry on.’
‘Yes, thanks, Linda. Won’t be a minute.’ Bemused, Jimbo didn’t answer Pat for a moment. Had Fitch got a point here? He had bought the house, did everything in it belong to him? But church silver, he could hardly sell it. Could he?
‘Look Pat, I’ve got to get on, there’s only Linda and me this morning till Harriet gets here. Keep all this under your hat. Come back at lunchtime after you’ve finished at the school and we’ll have another talk.’
‘But it could be urgent. Yer know what a go-getter ’e is,
it could all be sold by tonight. Then what would we do? The rector’s going to be none too pleased, is he? What I can’t understand is why it’s there in the first place. Why isn’t it in the church?’
‘I don’t know, Pat.’ He stood up to retrieve his boater from the shelf. ‘Look, I still think we’ve got time. I’m due up at the Big House later this morning, I’ll have a scout around and see what I come up with. Leave it with me.’
‘Will you tell the rector?’
‘Or perhaps we should tell Sir Ralph, after all his family still owned it in 1940 didn’t they?’
‘Did they? Yes, I expect they did. I’ll call after I’ve washed up the dinner things. Right?’
‘Right!’
‘See yer then. Yer can understand why I’m worried, can’t yer? If the village finds out what he’s done there’ll be hell to play.’
Jimbo placed his boater at a jaunty angle and led the way into the front shop. Linda was trying to serve and deal with the post office too, so for the moment he had to put the whole story to the back of his mind.
Jimbo dropped down to third gear as he went up the long drive to Turnham House. He loved sauntering up the drive, taking in the feel of the place. It mattered not one jot that it had been a children’s home then a health club and now a training centre, the old house with its parkland and gardens still had dignity and beauty. Try as they might, the twentieth-century entrepreneurs hadn’t spoilt that ambience. One mile long, exactly. He’d measured on his milometer. As he rounded the last curve the lovely old redbrick house came into view. The Big House. Even the village people who hadn’t been born when Sir Ralph’s
mother had to sell because of Ralph’s father’s death in the War, still looked upon it as the hub of the village. He drew to a halt on the freshly laid gravel at the front of the house and, climbing out, left the car unlocked and went inside. Give him his due, Fitch had retained the lovely entrance hall in its entirety, and had had the sensitivity to place an antique desk for the receptionist to use.
‘Mr Charter-Plackett! What a delight! How are you this bright morning?’
‘All the better for seeing you, Fenella! What news on the Rialto?’
‘You haven’t heard then? No, of course not, you weren’t up here yesterday.’ Fenella’s large blue eyes glowed with intrigue. She glanced round the hall, checked no one was within hearing, and leaning across the desk whispered: ‘Buried treasure! Well, not buried exactly, but hidden!’
‘Fenella, you’ve been watching too many late-night movies, I’ve warned you before.’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’ Jimbo took her hand in his. Holding it close to the revers of his Jaeger overcoat he said, ‘Tell me more.’
‘All the stuff’s locked in the safe now. Mr Fitch found it. Thrilled to bits he is. Really thrilled – I’ve never seen him so excited. He’s always so self-controlled.’
‘Fitch! Excited? I’d like to have been here to see that.’
‘He’s gone to Budapest first thing this morning, won’t be back in London till Tuesday, so he’s locked it up till he’s time to deal with it.’
Jimbo’s mind raced. ‘But you’ll need to get in the safe between now and Tuesday, how are you going to manage? I was hoping my cheque would be here. End of month as we all know.’
‘Fenella has the key!’ She tapped the front of her silk shirt.
‘I’ve to guard this key with my life. Mr Fitch has gone all mediaeval since we took this place over, if I lose it I shall be hung drawn and quartered. If you promise me not to tell, I’ll open the safe for you, let you see it.’
‘You’ve got to open it to give me my cheque, so . . .’ The telephone rang and he waited for her to answer it. When she’d finished speaking she said, ‘I’ll get one of the girls to take over and we’ll go in the office and I’ll let you take a peep.’
Fenella had the key on a chain hanging round her lovely slender neck. She bent down in front of the huge safe and, using the key and twiddling the knobs in a combination known only to a chosen few, unlocked it and swung back the door.
Jimbo felt privileged to handle the beautiful things Fenella brought out of the box. They’d all been carefully wrapped in tissue paper and it rustled invitingly as he removed it. But he didn’t need enticing, the pieces were breathtakingly beautiful. There was no doubt, the silver belonged to the church. The chalice he was holding in his hand was dated 1655. Around the base were the words ‘Thanks be to God’. The matching cup had the same date and the same words engraved. The big silver plates were engraved ‘St Thomas à Becket 1739’. Fenella took out one of the candlesticks. It was engraved ‘Sir Tristan Templeton 1821–1859’. The other one of the pair said ‘Lady Mary Templeton 1824–1859’. His fingers traced the pattern winding round the stem of the candlestick and he noticed there were still traces of wax in the top and a drip of wax down one side. There was one magnificent candlestick
which, as Pat had said, was tall enough when the three pieces were fitted together to stand on the floor.
‘Why, Fenella, they’re wonderful aren’t they? Quite wonderful. They belong to the church, don’t they?’
‘Well, obviously they do.’ She began to look upset and started hastily packing them away again in the safe. ‘Better lock them up now.’
‘Has he told the rector what he’s found?’ Jimbo said this knowing full well he hadn’t.
Fenella locked the safe, replaced the chain round her neck and pushed the key down her shirt front.
‘No. More than that I cannot say. Sorry. Going into the kitchens now are we, Mr Charter-Plackett?’
‘Now look, I’ve known you two months now, it’s about time you began to call me Jimbo. Please do. All my friends do. And thank you for showing me those things; it was a very precious moment for me. A real privilege.’ He waved goodbye and went through the baize door and headed for the kitchens. But his mind wasn’t on his work. Damn and blast. He had to act before Tuesday. That fool Fitch would probably send a chap down from a London auction house and the stuff would be spirited away and that would be that. In all conscience he couldn’t let it happen. But who should he tell? How had the stuff got there in the first place? And why? Maybe Ralph would know. Yes, of course, Ralph would know. No one could hide those treasures in a house without the inhabitants knowing. All that banging and hammering putting the panelling up. Of course, he’d know all about it.
Jimbo left the Big House around twelve thirty, fully intending to call at the Store to check everything was in order and then go across to Ralph and Muriel’s. As he was turning right out of the drive into Church Lane, Peter came
past in his car. They both pulled up to hold a conversation through their open windows.
‘Good day to you, Peter, had your Easter conference with Willie?’
‘Jimbo, is there anything you
don’t
know? Yes, I have. Everything OK with you? Good to see Harriet’s looking fit and well.’
‘Yes, she is, thanks. I say, in your perambulations around the paperwork in the rectory have you come across any details of gifts of altar silver to the church?’
Peter studied the question for a moment and decided no, he hadn’t. ‘Why?’
‘There’s some turned up at the Big House. They found it hidden behind some panelling yesterday. I’ve chatted up the receptionist and she’s let me have a look. It’s beautiful. Seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth century. Wonderful stuff. Can’t stop now. I’ll let you know more later today. What time will you be back?’
‘Fourish.’
‘OK then, see you around.’
He pulled up outside the Store. There was no escape. There was a queue for the post office and one at the till. Pat came in about a quarter to two. She took a chance by jumping the queue to hand him one of his own carrier bags.
‘Eh! Pat, can’t yer see there’s a queue? Gone blind or something?’
‘All right, all right, it’s just a message.’ She turned her back to everyone so they couldn’t see the contents of the bag. Lowering her voice she said, ‘Sneaked this out of the bin last night. It’s some of the newspaper they were wrapped in. OK?’
Jimbo tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger and said, ‘Thanks. Mum’s the word. See you later when it’s quieter.’
Ralph wasn’t at home when Jimbo called so he went next door to the rectory and rang the bell. What a difference Caroline and Peter had made since they came. Old Mr Furbank hadn’t bothered at all, dust and cobwebs everywhere.
The door opened. Caroline stood there, a twin on either hand.
‘Jimbo! How nice. What a rare treat. Do come in. Say hello, you two.’ The two of them hid their faces in her skirt and refused to speak.
‘Alex! Beth! say hello to your old Uncle Jimbo. No? Never mind then. Peter in yet?’
‘Yes, he’s in his study drinking tea, would you like a cup?’
‘Yes, please, had no lunch today, been so busy.’
‘Go in then, and I’ll find a piece of Sylvia’s gingerbread for you.’
While he drank his tea and ate the gingerbread Jimbo filled Peter in on the story. When he’d finished Peter said, ‘Sell it? How could he? It’s patently obvious from what you say he can see it belongs to the church.’
‘Exactly. If anyone should sell it, it should be the church. I say, wouldn’t it help the old finances if we sold it? Just imagine what we could do with the money. This is a piece of the newspaper it was wrapped in.’
Peter took it from him and gently opened it out, smoothing the crumpled paper and laying it on his desk.
‘June 1940. 1940. Yes, of course. Do you know what? I think they hid it up there because of the threat of invasion. Dunkirk, the Germans just across the Channel, all that valuable silver, to say nothing of the value to the villagers. Yes, I bet that’s what happened. So Ralph’s father would know about it, and whoever was rector at the time. And the joiner or the estate worker they used to fix the panelling. Quite a skilful job if it’s never been noticed for the last fifty or more years.’
‘Thing is, there’s no one around now who could possibly remember.’
‘Except Ralph. He’d only be a little boy. Let’s ask him though.’
‘Not at home today. I tried him first. We’ve got till Tuesday anyway. Till Fitch gets back.’
‘You say it’s beautiful?’
